At the beginning of September, the forests whisper a unique murmur, unchanging from year to year. The rendezvous is set, the bellowing begins. The roars of the stags tear through the half-light, their cries of love echoing through the ancient valleys of the Ardennes.
I spend my days and nights there, hoping to catch the wild eye of a big stag. The slab is a drug, an exceptional moment of escape and serenity that I look forward to every year. The word passion takes on its full meaning here.
